Fraser, whose manner had already effected the little change rendered necessary by his promotion from mate to master, nodded curtly, and the crew, after another exchange of looks, resumed their work without a word. Their behaviour all day was docile, not to say lamb-like, and it was not until evening that the new skipper found it necessary to enforce his authority. The exciting cause of the unpleasantness was Mr. William Green, a slim, furtive-eyed young man, whom Fraser took on in the afternoon to fill the vacancy caused by Ben’s promotion. He had not been on board half an hour before trouble arose from his attempt to introduce the manners of the drawing-room into the forecastle. “Mr. Will-yum Green,” repeated Joe, when the new arrival had introduced himself; “well, you’ll be Bill ’ere.” “I don’t see why, if I call you Mr. Smith, you shouldn’t call me Mr. Green,” said the other. “Call me wot?” enquired Joe, sternly; “you let me ’ear you callin’ me mister anythink, that’s all; you let me ’ear you.” “I’m sure the cook ’ere don’t mind me callin’ ’im Mr. Fisher,” said the new seaman. “Cert’nly not,” said the gratified cook; “only my name’s Disher.” The newcomer apologised with an urbanity that rendered Joe and old Ben speechless. They gazed at each other in silent consternation, and then Ben rose. “We don’t want no misters ’ere,” he said, curtly, “an’ wot’s more, we won’t ’ave ’em. That chap’s name’s Bob, but we calls ’im Slushy. If it’s good enough for us, it’s good enough for a ordinary seaman wot’s got an A. B. discharge by mistake. Let me ’ear you call ’im Slushy. Go on now.” “I’ve no call to address ’im at all just now,” said Mr. Green, loftily. “You call ’im Slushy,” roared Joe, advancing upon him; “call ’im Slushy till I tell you to stop.” “Slushy,” said Mr. Green, sullenly, and avoiding the pained gaze of the cook; “Slushy, Slushy, Slushy, Slushy, Sl——” “That’ll do,” said the cook, rising, with a scowl. “You don’t want to make a song abart it.” Joe, content with his victory, resumed his seat on the locker and exchanged a reassuring glance with Ben; Mr. Green, with a deprecatory glance at the cook, sat down and offered him a pipe of tobacco. “Been to sea long?” enquired the cook, accepting it. “Not long,” said the other, speaking very distinctly. “I was brought up for something quite different. I’m just doing this till something better turns up. I find it very difficult to be a gentleman at sea.” The cook, with an eye on Joe, ventured on a gentle murmur of sympathy, and said that he had experienced the same thing. “I ’ad money,” continued Mr. Green, musingly, “and I run through it; then I ’ad more money, and I run through that.” “Ben,” said Joe, suddenly, “pass me over that boot o’ yours.” “Wha’ for?” enquired Ben, who had just taken it off. “To chuck at that swab there,” said the indignant seaman.